lemons and limes
by moodyreindeer
Summary: "Cyd and Shelby make it look so easy." / au in which naldo needs a tutor, barry is very smart, and cyd and shelby are soulmates. barryxnaldo one-shot. slash warning.


_this took me two years to finish. i started this on november twenty-third, two thousand and fifteen, and now it's finally finished. thank fuck._

* * *

All his life, Naldo has been told he's special.

He's heard it from relatives, neighbors, teachers, guidance counselors, other kids, and gets an entire spiel from his father on how relying on how special he is will make him a deadbeat someday.

By now, Naldo's used to it. He's used to the medication that makes him lose his appetite, and the medication that makes it hard to sleep at night, and the lectures his father gives him for not eating and sleeping as his mother watches from the sidelines, looking embarrassed.

But the doctor in front of him doesn't seem assured, staring from him to the clipboard in her hands with concern. Naldo likes Dr. Albright. She never really felt like a doctor to him—more like a friendly aunt that cares enough to ask him about his day.

"Let's see how you do on a higher dosage," she tells him gently. He likes that about her, too—she talks to him and his mother, like he has a say. Like he's an adult and not an incredibly hyperactive sixteen-year-old.

Naldo nods as if he has more options, like this isn't his third new dose arrangement in as many months, and restlessly waits for his mother to finish filling out new papers and getting new prescriptions.

"Maybe some decent sleep and a nice meal will help you prepare for that test tomorrow," his mother says brightly, once they are well away from Dr. Albright and closer to home, where his father will no doubt be awaiting their return to see what the doctor did to fix his son.

That night, he eats three plates of spaghetti and gets a peaceful ten hours of sleep.

A week later the history test he had comes back with a bright red D triple circled at the top.

:/:

"There isn't enough medication in the world to fix that boy, Dianne!"

"What do you expect me to do? Just hand him over to the nearest doctors and say fix my son?! You just need to accept that he thinks differently than we do."

"You're just making excuses for him! He needs a solid, no nonsense teacher that won't take all the crap you give the school board for doing their job right!"

:/:

After several nights filled with loud arguments, Naldo spends a Monday morning in the middle of October eating Fruity Pebbles as his mother babbled about the boy he would be spending two hours with everyday after school.

"Just until we see a little improvement in your grades, eh?" she tries for a smile, but Naldo doesn't buy it and simply continues to chew on his Fruity Pebbles.

His father isn't around to give his two cents, which leaves Naldo with an overwhelming sense of relief and a rare moment of quiet.

:/:

Barry is a person Naldo remembers as always being there. Never saying anything, never sticking out in a crowd, but always in the same electives as Naldo, eating in the same cafeteria, and walking the same hallways that he does to a completely different tune.

He isn't known for having a big crowd of friends, or sitting at a populated lunch table, but there is always a pair of girls by his side - Cyd and Shelby, Naldo knows them as, soulmates since preschool and inseparable ever since. Naldo's so used to associating Barry's presence with theirs that it's a jolt to see him alone, patiently waiting for him in front of the trailer a scrawled note had instructed Naldo to go to after school.

Barry doesn't say anything, leading Naldo into the trailer with an air around him that puts Naldo on edge. He gets like that sometimes - so tense about new situations that adrenaline begins to kick in, sensing something that is yet to happen, but could when he least expects it. It's a fifty-fifty instinct to trust, Naldo has learned, and wonders what it's trying to say about Barry.

The trailer is packed with many things Naldo has never seen a person own (much less use) outside of school - microscopes, telescopes, beakers, periodic tables, blueprints, rulers, chemicals, powders, and a hodge podge of other things that not even his science teacher has spoken of before.

"Excuse the mess," Barry says curtly as he slides into a bench on one side of a table - completely cleared of anything but a pencil and pristine notebook, the cleanest surface in the entire space. Naldo drops into the seat opposite and sets his bag at his feet.

He's completely out of his element.

His tutor, however, seems completely relaxed. Naldo is sure that his mother made sure he was informed of Naldo's mental specialties, as she likes to call it, but Barry's face doesn't flicker from the cool, untelling stone mask that Naldo has seen brief glimpses of in the hallway, cafeteria, courtyard. As far he knows, Barry has the same stoic expression for everybody.

Barry is in no way about to treat him like the tall kindergartener that everyone else makes him feel like; Naldo knows it before Barry even opens his mouth to speak.

"You just failed your history test - let's start there."

Naldo pulls out his folder and history book. Barry takes the folder and cringes upon seeing the lack of any organizational system for the papers, combing through until he can pull out the crinkled test with the bright red D.

Naldo fidgets as Barry reads through each answer. His face doesn't move except for his eyebrows, which go dramatically up and down the further he gets.

"Okay," Barry says finally. Perfectly calm, he sets the test between them in exchange for the pencil and notebook. Naldo watches him write a small, dark 3 on the first line. Naldo flicks his eyes to the paper.

What was the name of the mystic travelers that helped spread Islam?

"Um," Naldo said, squinting at the words. "Sunnies?"

The corner of Barry's mouth twitches.

"Not bad," he amends. Something loosens in Naldo's chest that he never knew could move before. "Sunni."

Soon-E. Naldo decides he likes the way Barry makes things sound. His voice is factual and devoid of bias, something Naldo's never heard directed to him before.

Barry continues to write down the questions that Naldo got wrong, making Naldo answer them the best to his ability. Sometimes Naldo's far off - those are the questions where Barry dives deep into an explanation, never emerging until he is sure Naldo understands. He moves fast, but always waits for Naldo to match his pace, to keep up.

Naldo wishes Barry could tutor his father in the art of compassion.

:/:

Their tutoring sessions continue well into December, snow turning everything white and freezing, like a snow globe.

Naldo had another test a week ago.

He got a B-.

His mother cried and cooked him his favorite dinner, lasagna with cheesy, greasy garlic bread. His dad stopped after one beer and looked at him with something akin to pride, but not quite.

Barry remains indifferent, but Naldo can tell whenever Barry is proud. Whenever he gets a question right, Barry will knock their feet together lightly, almost like Naldo could have imagined it.

It's a Saturday when Naldo trudges to Barry's trailer, wrapped up in a parka and scarf with a hat pulled over his ears as he braves the cold. It's the first time Naldo is coming over without the pretense of a tutoring session, and Barry has no idea. The prospect of being turned away turns Naldo's freezing insides to molting lava that burns identically to embarrassment.

He arrives sooner than he is ready to, but he swallows his pride and doesn't stop moving until he's practically on top of the door. Below the loud, vain howl of the wind he can hear voices.

Naldo knocks before he can stop himself. Quickly, he shoves his gloved hands into his pockets and tells himself it's to keep warm.

Someone yells "Come in!" that isn't Barry, but Naldo does so anyway.

Cyd and Shelby are there, closer than ever. They sit in the same side of the booth and Shelby has a hand in Cyd's hair, idly playing with it, trapped in state of ease Naldo has never been able to reach. Cyd practically sinks into the blonde's touch, melting into Shelby's side like they're fused together, which is close enough to the truth.

"Ronaldo," Barry says, sounding slightly surprised as he catches sight of Naldo standing in front of the door.

Naldo pretends the shiver he gets is from the cold and not the way Barry saying his full name sounds. He's the only one to ever say Ronaldo that isn't his grandmother, but Naldo likes the way it makes his arms tingle.

"Hi," Naldo says from beneath his scarf. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?"

He says it so fast that his own ears hardly understand it, but that might be because his ears are still partially frozen from the walk.

Shelby and Cyd seem to find something funny as they quickly look at him before ducking their heads together and sharing a giggle. It doesn't sound mean, but his face burns nonetheless.

Barry seems stuck, like someone put him on pause. Naldo bounces in his spot, trying to get warm.

"Well, don't stand there letting all the cold air in," Barry says finally, turning back to whatever he was bent over. "Or we'll all freeze to death."

Naldo smiles wide enough to crack his frozen face and closes the trailer door behind him.

:/:

That first time unlocked a confidence in Naldo that he's never felt before. He stays after the mandatory two hours for their studying sessions to peer over Barry's shoulder as he works. Science was never something that fascinated him, but the way Barry wraps himself in it makes it seem like an entire planet Naldo's had access to but never bothered to explore.

Naldo asks a lot of questions. He'll sit on the same table they were going over algebraic equations on just twenty minutes ago and shoot off all sorts of different questions - what does Barry look at underneath the microscope? Why does he need so many solutions to make one mixture? How come he builds so many lasers?

For each rapid-fire question Barry matches his pace without so much as a pause. His hands never stop moving, going from this half-full beaker to this empty one, to one dial on his microscope to the precisely made slide sitting off to the side. He never even looks up, often times his back to where Naldo sits on his little perch, but Naldo doesn't mind. It gives him a lot more chances to openly stare at certain things - the way Barry scratches his head when he's frustrated, the way his shoulder blades become more defined through his shirt when he stretches, the way he easily loses track of time in the small universe he's created.

At first, Naldo thinks this is normal. He has never been good with making friends, and the few he's had were forced upon him by awkwardly arranged playdates through his mother and other ladies with children to pawn off throughout the neighborhood. Those meetings always made him extra squirmy and hyper, eager to do something like run around the backyard a couple hundred times or kick a ball around until it deflates - anything to get the excess energy out of him so the calm could return. His hyper tendencies had a habit of rubbing people the wrong way, and he usually never saw those kids again.

Barry makes him feel different. He could be sitting in the trailer doing nothing but sitting and watching the young scientist flit about and feel an intense sense of ease drape over him like a warm blanket fresh out the dryer. It's even better when Barry asks him to hold things or get that chemical or press this button or pull those levers because a tingle will shock the soles of his feet and travel all the way up until his entire body is thrumming with it. But unlike his nervous energy, this felt natural - like it was the kind of buzz he's supposed to be feeling all the time.

It doesn't strike him that these aren't platonic feelings until one night over meatloaf when his mother's inane chatter switches from his rising grades (all thanks to Barry and Naldo's determination to make Barry proud of him) to another teenage boy in the neighborhood who got caught with his boyfriend by his abashed mother.

"Fran was really put out about it," his mother says. She holds her wine glass and swishes it around; her tone is pitiful and mocking at the same time.

"She coddled him too much," his father grunts around a large forkful of meatloaf. "The coddled ones always turn into nancies, and nancies are always the ones who turn out sideways."

Naldo feels sick for the rest of the night.

:/:

Cyd and Shelby make it look so easy. As Naldo begins sitting with Barry and Cyd and Shelby at lunch and in between classes, it's apparent that the girls have nothing to hide. Cyd spends most of her day being hard and tough, but as soon as her eyes fall on Shelby, she melts. Shelby is already sweet and kindhearted, but around Cyd it becomes something stronger, more intimate. The blonde girl will wrap her arms around her girlfriend and hold her close, play with her hair, tickle her sides - all these adorable couple things that make Naldo swoon as hard as his stomach bubbles with jealousy.

He would be kidding himself if he said he wanted to play with Barry's hair or gaze dreamily into his eyes for hours on end, but he wants something. He wants to drag him close by the shirtfront and kiss him on the lips, the kind with a disgusting smack audible from a dozen feet away. He wants Barry to smile at him like they have something special, like Naldo means something deeper than anyone else could ever know.

"Why the long face, Naldo?" He looks up to see Shelby tilting her head at him curiously. Cyd has an arm around her waist and her chin resting on her shoulder, scrutinizing him with a thoughtful look.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look this down before," she adds. "It's like seeing a depressed Winnie the Pooh."

Cyd takes a second to snort into her girlfriend's shoulder before looking back at him, the remnants of mirth mingled into her concerned gaze.

"Yeah, what's up, Naldo?"

He takes a long sigh. "How did you two know you liked each other?" he asks, sounding a little too miserable for his own ears to handle.

Shelby lets out a melodic hum. "It wasn't really a moment," she says slowly. "More like...getting into a hot tub. When you have to sink in little by little. It was like that."

Cyd tugs on a piece of Shelby's hair and snorts. "Did you just compare me to a hot tub?"

Shelby smirks even as she blushes. "Maybe."

Cyd snorts again, loud and uncaring, and leans in to nuzzle her girlfriend's neck. "You're such a dork."

Naldo pouts as he watches his friends, caught between adoration and envy. Was he not good enough for something like that?

:/:

"Something's wrong."

Barry studies his face intensely; Naldo studies the window just as intensely. It's a beautiful winter day - the sun reflects off the snow, making all the white and ice sparkle.

"Don't know what you mean," Naldo tells the window. "I'm good as gold."

"I don't believe you," Barry replies promptly.

Naldo's nose crinkles. "Well, that's rude."

"You can't look at me when you lie."

"What?" Naldo turns back to the young scientist. Barry tilts his head, meeting Naldo's gaze. It's the same look Barry gives to his most complicated experiments; Naldo is simultaneously flattered and terrified.

"It's your tell," Barry says thoughtfully. "Like that one time I asked if you liked the book I gave you and you did the same thing you're doing now."

"I'm not doing anything," Naldo argues petulantly.

Barry smirks faintly. "You looked away. It's your tell."

Naldo opens his mouth. He closes it, scrunching his face up as he tries to find the right words.

"Have you ever liked somebody?" is what comes out.

Barry tilts his head. "Have I ever liked somebody…" He repeats the words slowly, like he's testing their weight in his mouth. Naldo doesn't think he'll ever not like hearing Barry speak.

Naldo tries to picture Barry being like one half of a Cyd-and-Shelby couple. Holding someone close, whispering in their ear, looking at them like they hung the moon and the stars. Two images come to mind, both equally terrifying:

The first is just Barry, stone-faced and alone throughout the rest of high school and maybe even college, bent over one of his many projects in his lab. It's dim and lonely, the image sad enough to make the telltale pinprick of incoming tears start at the corner of his eyes.

The second is Barry and a faceless, unnamed person, blissfully spending their days together. Naldo can see his own sullen face in the shadow of the happy couple, fading out of Barry's life until the presence he's been trying so hard to establish with the young scientist is erased completely. The image is so terrifying - so painful - that Naldo sucks in a sharp breath. It hurts, spreading upward from his lungs until the hurt fogs up his entire head.

"Ronaldo," Barry says. His voice is quiet and serious, the gravest Naldo's ever heard him. He looks up, desperately wishing his hat grew big enough to swallow him whole.

Naldo swallows hard. It feels like a baseball going down his throat and settles in his stomach like he's just eaten one.

"I've never," Barry starts, shifting in his seat, "been very good at...emotions. Especially toward other people."

Naldo frowns. His eyes still feel wet; it makes his eyelashes sticky, a sensation he thoroughly hates.

Barry twindles a pencil in his hands. "People usually don't even notice me. But, you -" He looks at Naldo then, awed and wary in the same expression. "- you're just so fascinated by everything I do, and always look so happy."

Naldo's face begins to burn.

"I like helping you," he confesses. His voice is squeaky and afraid, like when he was a kid and trying to explain a nightmare to his mother. "It makes me feel useful."

"I -" Barry drops the pencil. His tongue sneaks out to lick his lips, his eyes hooded as he looks at Naldo. "I have a theory."

"A theory?" Naldo echoes, confused.

"Yes. Would you like to help me test it?"

Naldo swallows again, another baseball in his throat, settling like cement in his stomach. "Yeah, I - uh, yeah."

Barry leans over the table, tilting his head down. Naldo feels himself leaning forward, his body moving to its own accord.

It's a little awkward, the brim of Naldo's hat acting as a barrier that makes it difficult to duck their heads together. But when their lips meet, Naldo's putty in Barry's hands.

Barry's lips are cracked and dry, his hands warm and clammy where they cup Naldo's neck, but Naldo loves it. He presses forward, inexperienced but eager.

"What was your theory?" Naldo asks once they pull away. His lips are wet with saliva and he feels breathless.

"That you kiss as good as you look," Barry replies easily. His hair sticks up where Naldo's hands carded through them.

Naldo laughs.

Then he leans forward and kisses Barry again, just because he's there and he can.

:/:

Not much changes in the weeks following the kiss in the lab. Barry is still Naldo's tutor, and Naldo still watches over Barry's shoulder whenever the young scientist works on one of his many experiments. But there is an undeniable air of difference that's around them now.

They sit on the same side of the booth during their tutoring sessions. The sessions themselves are stretched from one hour to three, sometimes four, spending most, if not all, of the time pressed against each other. Naldo is only mildly disappointed, but not at all surprised, when Barry insists that they actually study.

"Your mother isn't paying me to make out with you, Ronaldo," Barry reprimands, only half-serious.

Naldo pouts, leaning against Barry's shoulder as he looks down at the history packet they're supposed to be finishing.

"That's not as fun," he whines. He tilts his head to brush his nose against the side of Barry's throat.

The rumble of Barry's laugh vibrates through his side, making him feel warm and fuzzy all over.

Naldo's naturally sunny disposition has brightened tenfold since he and Barry became - whatever it is that they were. Everywhere he goes he feels delightfully light and airy, like he's floating along on a cloud. His parents think it's because his grades are currently the best they've ever been during his academic career; his mother won't stop giving him the soft, gooey looks only a mother can make, and his father is acting more and more like an actual father with a son to be proud of, instead of a disgruntled boss with an unmanageable employee.

He lets his parents think whatever they want to, only capable of smiling and nodding at dinners. His mother still insists on making his favorite foods - it's almost like she believes if she stops making them, Naldo's grades will begin to slip back into their old habits. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that she could serve him moldy banana peels and his grades would remain just as exceptional as they are now.

Cyd and Shelby notice the difference almost immediately, and they waste no time making a field day out of mocking Barry and Naldo. When Barry complains about their relentless teasing, a semi-frustrated comment tossed over his shoulder, Shelby coos as Cyd hides a snicker in her girlfriend's hair.

"We're just so happy for you two!" Shelby says. Each word is dripping with fondness as she looks at them from where her chin in perched on Cyd's shoulder. Cyd looks completely at home on Shelby's lap, a small, affectionate smile on her face as she looks at them. Naldo thinks the smile is meant for him and Barry, but also for Shelby, because Cyd couldn't do anything without some part of it being for Shelby, and vice versa.

"It took you long enough," Cyd snorts, not unkindly.

Shelby pokes her in the ribs as a reprimand, but Cyd just waves the finger away.

Naldo has his own goofy smile on his face. He can feel it stretching out wide enough to ache, but he can't stop. He's glued himself to Barry, part of him plastered to Barry's back and an arm casually looped around his waist. He's in the perfect spot to watch Barry's hands move as he connects this to that, assembling something complex and genius.

It feels nice, to share somebody's space. Not suffocating, like he'd always thought it would be when he watched people do it in the movies, but - cozy.

There's only a slight snag: this thing Naldo has with Barry - the touching, the kissing, the shameless flirting - doesn't have a name. They're not dating (unless making out in the lab and necking during their tutoring sessions counts as dates, which Naldo is pretty sure they don't, if the dozens of Hallmark movies his mother watches are anything to go by) and they're not boyfriends. Or, at least Naldo doesn't think they are. Cyd and Shelby throw around the G-word left and right, almost like they have to say it every time they breathe; him and Barry haven't even broached the topic about the B-word, let alone using it to refer to each other.

So, now, without a label or any real parameters to go by, it makes Naldo feel...untethered. Like Barry could just spontaneously float away and leave Naldo to flounder on his own. He knows the likeliness of this happening is slim to none (Barry isn't the type to up and leave; Naldo knows this in his gut), but, still. The fear is there.

The fear was never there before the kiss. Naldo had many lengthy, flirtatious daydreams, but he never worried this much.

But, whatever. Each time he peeks at Barry's experiments over his shoulder, Barry presses a hand against the arm Naldo has wrapped around his waist like he's trying to glue him to his abdomen and keep him there forever. He kisses like that, too - pressing closer like they're both made of clay and he can mold them into a single figure.

The fear means nothing when Barry's so intent on keeping him close.

:/:

"Did you have other theories?"

"What?" Barry looks up from where he'd been making a constellation out of the freckles on Naldo's hip with a marker. His hair sticks up in the places Naldo ran his fingers through it; it makes him look like an adorably disgruntled mad scientist, and Naldo loves it.

"You said you had a theory about me the day we kissed," Naldo reminds him. "Did you have any others?"

"About you?" Barry muses, but he's smirking so Naldo knows he's just joking.

Naldo pokes him impatiently in the ribs. "Tell me, please?" He sticks out his lower lip a little and tilts his head down so he has to look at Barry through his lashes - a look that promises Barry to cave whenever Naldo wants him to.

Barry sighs, giving him an exasperated look as he caps the marker and tosses it to the floor. They're sprawled out in the scientist's room, a place that Naldo has only heard about and never been to until this day, and finally having access is a little thrilling, like he's getting away with something. In typical Barry fashion, the room is littered with countless awards and trophies from science fairs and other conventions he's participated in, adorning the room like makeshift wallpaper. They lay across his bed, which feels way softer than Naldo thought it would. If he was admitting to thinking about being on Barry's bed, which he definitely is not.

"I thought that you wore so many hats," Barry says, reaching up to gently knock Naldo's fedora to the mattress, "because you had a really bad haircut."

Naldo snorts, offended even as he tilts his head into Barry's hand, fingers scraping gently against his scalp.

"I thought you were insanely ticklish," Barry continues, shifting closer until his nose is buried in Naldo's collarbone. Naldo doesn't feel his hand until deft fingers are attacking his sides.

He lets out a high shriek, legs kicking as he attempts to duck out Barry's touch.

"Okay, okay!" he giggles. Barry retracts his fingers and Naldo takes a moment to catch his breath before snaking back into the scientist's touch.

"I thought you wore wild prints as a form of rebellion," Barry continues. He tugs on the palm tree button-up Naldo wears over a plain green shirt.

"Hey, I like this shirt," Naldo argues with a pout.

Barry chuckles; it makes Naldo's toes curl. "I know you do - that's why I like you."

Barry gently presses down until Naldo's flat on his back, the scientist tucking himself into his side and tangling their legs together.

"Can I share a theory of my own?" Naldo asks, a little breathless as Barry's hand creeps beneath his shirt to rest on the smooth plane of his stomach.

Barry turns his face into Naldo's neck; Naldo can feel his curious smile against his skin. "All right."

"I thought…" He wraps an arm around Barry's back to rest a hand against his side, right beneath his ribs. "...that you were a huge softie."

He punctuates it with a playful poke to the scientist's side, just hard enough to draw out a jump and a gasp.

Barry pushes himself up on one arm, putting his face directly above Naldo's laughing one. He's smirking, with one eyebrow raised like he can't believe Naldo is real, and the expression is so adorably Barry that Naldo drags him down for a kiss, still laughing against his mouth.

:/:

Sometimes snippets of things Barry teaches him will come to Naldo at unexpected times.

Like now, a rainy Friday night in February, when Naldo's parents were supposed to be at a business party, but are standing over him and Barry, looking ready to either kill or commit their only son.

Regression to the mean.

Naldo didn't understand the technical term, but Barry simplified it to meaning that things can never favor one side forever. Everything balances out in the end.

It's happening now, Naldo thinks sadly. Everything with Barry (and, by extension, Cyd and Shelby) had been the best months of Naldo's life. He felt liked. And smart. But he doesn't think his parents will see it that way; his mother is clutching the string of pearls she only wears on special occasions like they're the only thing holding her together; Naldo has never seen his face look so angry. He's surpassed red and is turning an alarming shade of purple, veins bulging from his neck and face like overblown balloons.

There's a lot of yelling. Naldo's never heard his father so loud, even after endless trips to the doctors, getting medications added and dosages adjusted. He expects his mother to step, attempt to come to his defense like she has before, but the pinch of disappointment and heartbreak on her face tells Naldo that this time is different. A different, more permanent line has been drawn in the sand.

If it wasn't for the weight of Barry's hand in his, clutching like he doesn't plan to let go anytime soon, Naldo would cry.

"Get the hell out of my house!" his father screams. It's so loud, so powerful, Naldo expects the walls to crack.

Barry, who has been totally silent through the entire tirade, pulls Naldo up with him as he stands from the bed.

His voice is a whisper, but it echoes in Naldo's ears more than his father's yelling does:

"Run, Ronaldo."

Barry sprints out his bedroom door and down the stairs, going so fast as he takes Naldo along that Naldo doesn't think their feet touch the ground once.

They run, run, run. It's the fastest Naldo's ever moved in his entire life and he feels every second of it; his heart beating in his ears, his lungs thumping in his chest, his blood roaring.

When they slow, it's like hitting play on a movie that's been in fast forward. They're blocks away, still in the same neighborhood, but Naldo is so disoriented that he can barely tell up from down, let alone this house from that one.

"Naldo." Barry says it quietly, like his name is suddenly a secret. Naldo feels himself shiver; it's the first time he's heard Barry say his real name, and he wishes it was in better circumstances so he could bask in the sound of it for a little longer.

Naldo looks at him; Barry's hair is a little messed up from when Naldo's fingers ran through it just twenty minutes ago, when things were still good. His eyes are wild, the same way they look when he gets a new idea and the gears in his head are turning.

Barry reaches out, fast and sure, and pulls him into a hug. Naldo freezes, just for a second, because Barry isn't one to be so outright with touching. Messing around on one of their beds in one thing, but the tight way Barry's arms wrap around him and cradle his head is something completely different. It's a lot more intimate than anything they've done before. It's enough for Naldo's eyes to begin to burn and sting - he's finally starting to cry.

"I'll fix it, okay? I'll fix it," Barry whispers over and over again. Naldo believes him wholeheartedly, because that's what Barry does; he approaches a problem and finds a solution for it, a plan of attack for every angle, every possible outcome.

But in this moment, Naldo doesn't want anything to be fixed yet; he just doesn't want him to let go.

:/:

Shelby takes him in with little questions. If possible, her parents are even nicer than their daughter; they let him take up the guest room and don't bat an eye when Barry comes over with a bagful of clothes and kisses him soundly on the lips.

Naldo knows he should feel sad, and he kind of does. He misses his mom and the proud way she'd look at him whenever he got something right; he misses his familiar bed and his lilac-scented striped sheets; he misses all the times he would just walk around his house, bored and oblivious to the fact there would be a day he could no longer the house his.

But he has good things here, too. Shelby has the innate ability to tell whenever he's sad - no matter how hard he tries to hide it - and makes him hot chocolate, claiming it's the best cure for any sadness. Cyd is over all the time, enough for Naldo to think of her as permanent resident of Marcus house, and she distracts him with wild, almost unbelievable stories about the adventures her dog Diesel gets into.

Barry hardly leaves his side. He's over as early as Mr. and Mrs. Marcus are awake to open the door, and he doesn't leave until Mrs. Marcus gives a gentle reminder that his parents want him home. But sometimes he doesn't leave. Sometimes the four of them - Cyd and Shelby, him and Barry - have impromptu sleepovers, turning the guest room into a nest of pillows and blankets as they marathon movies on the big TV. Sometimes Naldo gets to fall asleep curled into Barry's side, and wake up with the scientist's face buried in his hair and two other best friends tangled in each other like they've been one person the whole time.

Even Barry isn't there, Naldo can bury himself in the scientist's borrowed clothes, breathing in the smell of unscented laundry detergent and the hint of something chemical, something akin to a burning smell. So even when Naldo can't reach out and take Barry's hand, he's still there, in a small way.

It's a different life, and definitely an unexpected one, but Naldo thinks it's for the best. He's surrounded by his friends, who want nothing but the best for him, and he's been lucky enough to be taken in by a set of parents who don't think it's bad when he kisses another boy.

It's not perfect, but neither is Naldo, and at least he's not alone.

* * *

 _fin._


End file.
